My life was not like this. I rarely found anything to smile about. Now I do it a lot.
I preached against false churches with swear words, but myself? I was no Christian. I thought I was, but then my eyes were opened. I feel like Saul on the road to Damascus. I was blind, but now I see. But it had nothing to do with my failing vision. I don’t care if my eyes can see; I almost want them not to. My eyes have caused too much sin in my life, and I don’t want lust or temptation to challenge me.
But temptation is always part of what we are going to face so long as we live. Even blind, I would be tempted. God promised to send the Holy Spirit to the true Christian to help us resist evil. I’m so grateful for that. I didn’t do very well on my own. Reflecting on my past and my posts, I am ashamed of the language I have used. Without that, perhaps I would have turned fewer followers away. For all of them, I rarely get visited at all. A “like” is extremely rare. That’s as it should be. I earned this.
I could apologize from now to Christmas, and it wouldn’t do any good.
But there were times when I wrote good stuff. When I gave something to people in obvious need. I wasn’t tooting my own horn; I wanted others to know how good a thing like that feels.
Today I went for a walk. Painful experience, climbing that hill. My cane does not help.
Out of breath and hurting, I made it to Starbucks and bought a blonde roast from a blonde kid. She’s polite, but like the last time she brewed a cup for me, it was a bit weak. I didn’t really care; it’s the walk and sitting outside that makes this ritual important to me. I might see someone I know, and that’s always cool.
The lady I totally blew off no longer has a way to contact me unless she can figure out who I am, sitting there on that bench, drinking a weak blonde roast coffee made by a blonde baristatoo young to know what real coffee is, surrounded by carpenter bees because they’ve made it their home. Talk about getting close to nature!
It’s okay. They don’t bother me. What bothers me is the shameful was I treated someone who triggered me. It was, I’m sure, innocent. My condition made me remember terrible things, and I went into victim behavior. I wish that didn’t happen.
I’m not afraid anymore. The Holy Spirit comforts. I’m a lot more outgoing than I have ever been. I’m not shy in the least. I’m a better listener than a talker, always ready now to offer some kindness to neighbors who know I’ve changed. I can’t hide it. They know.
Today was special. I heard music as I approached the store, a happy tune but definitely one being played live. I turned the corner but couldn’t see anyone; he was too far away. I could only see him when I got close to the entrance: a guy with a bald pate playing like he was at an old carnival… short but beefy, like a heavy weight power lifter, headed to the Olympics.
And he was playing an accordion of all things, and quite magically, too. He was playing Strauss!
Well, I was an instant fan. My smile was glued in place. Of course, he had a sign, too; he needed money. Back outside, my heart felt so light, there on the bench, drinking my weak Starbucks blonde made by the blonde who just can’t seem to get a pourover right. I had to get up and go back to the storefront to hear him better. I wanted to repay him for making me smile. I actually don’t carry cash, so I had to walk back toward home to get to the ATM. I withdrew $10.00 and went back to put it in his jar. When I did, I saw the sign. “Please, in the name of Jesus,” it began. Yes, I know: scammers do this kind of thing. I don’t believe he was one of them. I even fell on the gravel when I stooped, and that really hurts. When was the last time I fell on gravel? 55 years ago? I didn’t care. No regrets (later, I would be made painfully aware that I had sprained the ankle of the leg that remained planted when I fell, but I couldn’t possibly care less). He asked in Jesus’s name, so I gave in Jesus’s name. He saw the five dollar notes, smiled, and bowed slightly, and I moved off to lean on the wall and listen. I finished the weak blonde made by the blonde barista who makes weak coffee, waved at the man, and turned to leave. He bowed as much as a man with a squeeze box can accommodate without making him pitch forward, and I felt happy.
Giving is a blessing. That has always been true. But giving to someone in need who plays Strauss on an accordion? That’s priceless.
Goodnight, my brothers and sisters. May God bless.
Memoirs of an American Asshole 